The Path Untraveled
by chibiMuffin999
Summary: What if Bucky didn't want to become an Avenger? What if he's had more than enough of fighting and violence to last several lifetimes and now he wants to save lives without endangering or ending any? My exploration of where Bucky COULD have gone after recovery: The path not traveled.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_

_**What if Bucky didn't want to fight anymore? What if he was done with using violence to solve his problems?**_

_**While I never expect to see this in canon (let's face it, it wouldn't make nearly as exciting a movie as blowing shit up), I thought it'd be fun to explore what would happen if Bucky went a different way once he's recovered.**_

_**This story won't be as emotionally charged as some of the others, so enjoy a little light reading :D**_

* * *

Steve isn't surprised.

Bucky was always a protector. Always. From the time he was still just a gap-toothed little brat like the rest of the kids on their block, not much bigger than Steve.

He never bullied the other kids, not even when he started to shoot up past them around the time he turned eleven. Even when the assholes from uptown would come around, calling him 'mick', 'bastard', 'dock monkey', and 'fairy', Bucky kept his head.  
They called Steve plenty too, but Bucky usually managed to plant himself in between the bullies and his best friend, so Bucky got the brunt of it. These guys were obviously spoiling for a fight, but they rarely got one… at least not out of him.  
Bucky hated them, sure. Hated the bile they spewed on a regular basis, that they loved kicking the little guy, especially when he was down… but he just rolled his eyes, tossed an arm around Steve to keep him from jumping into it to defend his friend's honor, and kept right on walking the other direction. These jerks just weren't worth it.

Bucky was always eyeing the bigger boys around them when they were kids; watching the ones who'd already come after Steve once, especially. He didn't like to do it, but he'd knock anybody that messed with his family (and Steve was certainly that) into next week.

Bucky Barnes, all of twelve and a half at the time, had even dived into a fight against five other boys, all at least a head taller than himself, just to drag out a lost kid from three streets over and get him running towards home for all the kid's shrimpy little legs were worth. Bucky'd come out of that one pretty badly, with a split lip, a busted finger, and at least three bruised ribs, but he'd rescued the kid before the other boys could much more than give the little guy an impressive shiner, and he'd always been proud of that.

Bucky never wanted to go to war. He had been angry, then sullen, then depressed, when his number had come up. Bucky had never wanted to hurt anybody - wouldn't unless he was defending his own. And here they were, asking him to walk away from all the family he had left in the world -from a guy with too little sense and no self-preservation instinct left in that thick little skull of his, who got sick whenever the wind changed, who barely survived the winter every year- they wanted him to just walk away from all of that and go off to the other side of the godforsaken world to shoot a bunch of strangers just for being on the wrong side of a line that he hadn't even drawn. He had no way of knowing when or if he'd come home, or if Steve would still be alive to greet him if he did.  
Bucky had, predictably, hated the war and everything it involved.

But Steve knows all this in retrospect. Bucky wouldn't tell him any of it until years and years later -nearly 80 years, in fact. Bucky had protected him the best he could to the last; even from knowing how much his best friend hated what Steve dreamed about.

… In retrospect, Bucky really had been right. War was awful. It had been a necessary evil perhaps, but it wasn't glorious. It wasn't heroic. It was just ugly, heartless, and cruel. He didn't dream about going to war anymore - not unless you counted his nightmares- and that hardly seemed the same.

So when Bucky tells him, tiny tremor in his voice, right in the thick of the team movie night - Steve barely even bats an eye. He's been half expecting it for weeks, really.

The Bucky that the others know is all about violence. He'd been an assassin for close on 75 years, nearly killed half of them at one time or another while he was at it. They expect sudden rages and vicious assaults out of him. They expect quiet, deadly, and unpredictable. They don't at all expect what Bucky has just handed them, and the room falls into a stunned sort of silence as they try to process it.

The Avengers haven't really gotten to know the Bucky Barnes that's slowly crawling back up out of the darkness and filling in his own skin again. The one that went hungry more often than not because Steve couldn't afford to lose one more pound. The one who'd jumped into more ill-advised fights and taken a fist right in the face more times than he could possibly count, just so Steve would be spared.

Steve doesn't blame them for not knowing.  
The Bucky he knows, though? This is right in line with him.

* * *

"You're kidding me…" Tony looks absolutely baffled. "So, wait, I'm not the only one that didn't want to join the super-powered boyband?" He crosses his arms and looks at Bucky with a grudging sort of respect. "I gotta say… didn't think you'd be the one turning down your engraved invitation, Tin Man."

"I'm tired of killing people." Bucky says simply. He's tense, curled up on himself, and taut like a garrotte around a throat. He runs a hand (flesh and blood) awkwardly up his metal arm, scrunching the soft cotton sleeve of his shirt in the process. "I thought I'd try saving some, instead."

Steve smiles. Natasha glances at Clint, who shrugs.

"You don't think that's what we do?" She ventures, turning back, face unreadable.

"No, you do." Bucky amends, aware of the delicate territory he's stepping into. "But I just-" He glances at Steve for support. "I can't do that anymore. I can't do it the way you guys do. I'm sorry."

"So what's the alternative plan?" Bruce's voice is encouraging and warm from the other end of the couch, where he's leaning over his popcorn bowl to meet Bucky's eyes. Bucky grins gratefully.

"I'm gonna volunteer." He says, knuckles still slightly white where he's fussing with the metal knob of his left elbow. "Thought I'd start with fighting fires, maybe do some paramedic stuff… nothing with guns." Bucky's eyes dart down, staring at the dull gleam of his metallic fingers, drumming on his thigh. He makes himself look up. "Once I'm all trained up… thought maybe I could just do some field support for you guys… when you need me." He glances at Steve, a faint involuntary smirk creasing his face. "God knows Rogers can't keep outta trouble without me."  
Steve smiles back. He looks… proud. Bucky feels a little of the knot in his chest unravel.  
"I thought… I thought I could do some medical, extraction… that kinda stuff… Non-combatant."

He glances over at the beanbag chair Sam has staked out as his own, propped up against the foot of the couch. At Sam, who looks just as proud of him as Steve does. He gets a subtle thumbs-up.  
_That's two… _Bucky thinks.

"You've been pretty quiet, Cap." Clint observes, though he can't have missed the obvious fond expression on Steve's face. His own is perfectly neutral. "Wha'd'you think about your boy's plan?"

"It's Bucky all over." Steve says, still smiling. "And I think it's a great idea." He leans into Bucky's space and gives him a gentle, playful punch in the shoulder. The knot loosens a little bit more. "Let me know if you want any help."

Bucky could just about faint with gratitude. He'd more or less expected Steve to support him, but to hear the words spoken out loud, well… that's something else entirely. _Count on Steve to have a guy's back_ he thinks fondly.

Natasha just shrugs when Clint's eyes stray back to her.  
"Your call, Robocop." She says, her voice even. It's clear she doesn't really approve of his approach, but Natasha has always been big on choices and letting people start over. "If this is what you want to do, you do it."

And that settles it. No one had planned to force him, but after this discussion none of them push or pressure him either. Bucky's not going to be an Avenger - not officially, anyway. He's going to save the day in his own way.

New York State will barely know what hit it.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: As readers of "I Got a Sick Brother at Home" will notice, I'm uploading tonight because I won't be home most of tomorrow. Enjoy :)**_

* * *

The first thing Bucky does the following day is look into the paramedic classes he'll have to take and get himself signed up. His timing is excellent: a course is starting in the next couple of weeks, and there's a few spaces left for last-minute add-ons. He enters his information without hesitation.

When he's paying his class fees, he takes a closer look at his bank account (apparently it somehow stayed open, despite his 'death' and all the time in between then and now) and almost chokes on the soda he filched from the fridge earlier. He does a double-take. Looks away, rubs his eyes, and looks back.

No... he didn't imagine it.

There can't possibly be that many zeroes. He's never even _dreamt_ of having that much money in his life, let alone possessed it. The knowledge that he's been sitting on this pile for months and never realized it is nothing short of stunning.  
He knows he's got back-pay coming out of his ears, not to mention his pension and the hazardous-duty add-ons he never asked for. And he's got enough interest on this account alone to cover his every expense for the rest of his life, even if he never had another red-cent come in.

Bucky shakes his head.  
Even if he lived on his own he'd never use it all - but living with Steve, who's always insisting on treating him whenever they go out somewhere, (and who's just as loaded for the same reasons) and Stark (who has more money than god and won't let them spend a cent of their own in his tower, thank you very much), he's all but drowning in unused funds.

That night he talks to Steve about it, who talks to Pepper, and the next thing Bucky knows, he's holding a neatly typed list of at least 50 charities and scholarship funds that Stark Industries has thoroughly vetted and donates piles to every year. She offers to check into any that aren't on her list that he'd like to contribute to, and even divert some of his monthly income directly into any funds or charities that he'd like to name.

...This while she's apparently also fielding emails and phone calls from at least six other people, organizing a conference... and keeping Tony more-or-less corralled and preventing him from blowing up half of New York City. (Jarvis has taken over the '_ensure that Mr. Stark eats_' part of her duties, by simply shutting down Tony's connection to the building computers if he goes longer than 8 hours between meals.)  
Keeping Tony in check is a full-time job in and of itself (the guy's the 40-something equivalent of a toddler with ADD; only with a drinking problem and a love of explosives) and Bucky can't imagine how she keeps up with everything, much less without snapping and murdering them all... but somehow she continues to pull miracles out of thin air. Bucky decides he needs to get her something nice with some of his stash while he's at it, as a thank you. … And a "please don't snap and murder us all" gift.

He peruses the list she's given him that night, metal fingers skimming across his chin, and dimly noting that he needs to shave. He's getting scruffy again.  
Behind him, Steve naps on the couch, sketchbook drooped limply over his chest, one hand trailing a nub of pencil against the floor. He dozed off somewhere around his third sketch of Bucky anxiously chewing his lip and mumbling to himself.

Several organizations catch Bucky's eye as he reads over the list, but when he finds The Wounded Warrior Project... that stops him in his tracks. He freezes in place as he reads the description, and instantly knows that this one's going to be important.

His eyes snap involuntarily to Steve, who still manages to look oddly young and small when he sleeps. Steve's face is slack, his breath slow and even, but the peace won't last.  
Bucky stares at him, thinking of all the ways war has broken his friend... though on the surface, most people would never know. He thinks of all the times Steve has started sobbing his heart out or cried out in his sleep. How many times the kid has woken up screaming bloody murder. How he shivers and goes dead-eyed for just a blink if he gets ice or cold water on his face.  
Thinks of all the little things that trigger that broken-hearted-puppy expression that Steve tries so hard to hide. Remembers how helpless he felt, holding onto Steve while the massive blonde man cried himself half-inside out a few weeks ago when the memories and the nightmares all came crashing down on him at once. It'd been a mess...  
-And that doesn't even approach the nights when both of them come apart at the same time.

Bucky thinks of Sam. Remembers the stories of Riley that Sam has occasionally told him, eyes misted and voice thick. Remembers how Sam's eyes get tired sometimes, and world-weary, when he thinks no one can see. How quickly that kind smile leaps right back onto his face whenever he notices anyone else in the room. How Sam, for all his scars, is there for everyone else first and foremost. He wonders, sometimes, if Sam has nightmares too. If he wakes up screaming, sits ramrod straight on the couch until the sun comes up, terrified to close his eyes, and just gives up on rest for the night.  
He knows Sam would never mention it if he does... and that thought hurts.

Bucky thinks lastly of himself. Of everything he dealt with, even before HYDRA -before his worst nightmares got worse, and his life went into a circle of hell he hadn't even dreamed existed before then.  
Even before the Winter Soldier Project, he'd been a mess. He'd been a head-case, and he knows it.

The shit he'd seen… He'd have been broken for the rest of his life just from the run of the mill bloodshed of your average war, never mind the horror-show that was piled on top of that. It's not hard to create a gruesome gorey mush out of a human-being with regular old guns and bombs. It's not hard to get numbed to the suffering - to get used to the idea that the guy next to you may or may not make it back tonight. You stop asking where people are when they go missing. You don't want to know.

People are real, real good at killing each other. Doesn't matter what tools you give them. They find a way. Take away the guns and they'll use knives. Take away the knives and they'll use rocks and sticks. Take those away and they'll use their bare hands.  
When it comes to violence, humanity is disturbingly creative.  
He's seen more than enough mangled and destroyed human remains to know that.

He makes a note to put the charity at the top of his list and shakes himself before he can spiral down into the dark ugly place that still boils low inside him when he thinks about the war.  
He keeps looking.

He chooses several more names from Pepper's list after careful consideration, then starts sending her names of organizations he'd like her to please look into, when she has time, and please don't go to any trouble. _Please_.  
She sends him several pages of small-print information on each one before lunch the next day. He decides he really ought to see about getting her something extra nice for her trouble… maybe a leash for Tony… maybe a muzzle. Maybe both.

Bucky ends up splitting up most of his savings between about 20 organizations in the end, all of whom call to thank him personally -some sounding ready to faint- when they get the check.

The comments they make are priceless.

_Does he realize how much he sent them? _

_Is he really __**the**_ _Bucky Barnes? Like… the Howling Commando guy?_

_Is this a prank?_

And his favorite:

_You know we track down fraudulent checks, right?_

He's grinning ear to ear when he gets off the phone with the last of them. He feels good. He's doing good. He likes it.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: These two chapters sort of go hand in hand, so you get a twofer today. Enjoy :D**_

* * *

Bucky excels in his paramedic training. He's more than strong enough to carry even the heaviest patients, he's not the least bit squeamish around blood anymore, it turns out his left hand is hypoallergenic (who knew?) and his training as a marksman gives him some of the steadiest hands in the business. He's also smart, has incredible reflexes, and he doesn't flinch in the face of danger. He barely even blinks at it, honestly.  
His teacher about has kittens the first time they run a drill. Before a week has passed, he's easily setting the curve for the class.

Bucky's always been a good student, and he soaks up the terminology, the procedures, the equipment, with incredible enthusiasm. More often than not, he sits up studying late into the night because he just can't seem to stop himself. He doesn't need much sleep anyways, and it's easier to just throw himself into this than to wrestle with his nightmares half the night.  
Before long, he talks like a medical textbook, and he's taken over all the minor wound care for the Avengers team. He takes to carrying a backpack with a full and impressive med-kit inside, just about everywhere he goes.

The first time Bucky patches up a bullet-hole in Natasha's side, instead of putting one there, he feels a strange sort of peace settle over him. She's oddly calm herself, just watching him press the suture thread through her skin -in and out, in and out- teeth clenched, with a sort of morbid fascination. She never once makes a sound.  
Bucky can't help but feel the rightness of what he's doing, deep down in his bones. Though he hates to see his friends in pain... for once, he's soothing that pain, not causing it. He's not helplessly watching them suffer. He's intervening. He's protecting the people he cares about again. He's healing instead of hurting. And it feels so, so good - like starting to make amends for all the things he's done. Almost like he's fixing the damage he caused years ago, undoing what was done.

Objectively, he knows there's no going back. He isn't stupid and life has made him a realist. He doesn't believe in fairy-tale endings anymore. Realistically, he knows he can only scrub away the stain of what he's done so well. Against his will or not, it was his fingers that pulled the trigger. His hand that wielded the knife.  
What's done is done. He knows that.

He lets himself enjoy the feeling anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

The firefighters are beyond skeptical at first.  
They're underfunded, sure, and they can use all the extra hands they can get, but they can't take any old random hippie off the street who just skips in one day looking to save the world. The liability is simply too steep. Bucky's got no fire training, a sketchy work history, and to put him through their training program means using resources they don't have. None of them are eager to do that.

He's about to try to argue with them that if they'd just give him a chance, he can do the work, that he'll see this through and not back out as soon as it gets hard, when one of them suddenly stops cold in mid-sentence, giving him a hard staredown. Bucky stares back, old instincts urging him to _defend, defend, defend_, until the man's face suddenly softens, and he lets out a low whistle.

"Man... what the hell are _you_ doing _here_?!" He asks, standing up and offering a hand for Bucky to shake. "You know who this guy is, Frank? This's Bucky fuckin' Barnes! Howling Commando guy, remember?"  
Bucky ducks his head, embarrassed, but he nods. He still has no idea how Steve ever got used to all the attention.  
"Figured you'd be out with Captain America, savin' the day and all that. You guys still got time for volunteering?"

"I just want to help people." Bucky says quietly, not really answering the question. "I spent plenty'a time hurting 'em. I figure it's time I did some good."

"Don't explain why you're _here_ instead of runnin' around beatin' up aliens or whatever it is you all do, but hell, I don't imagine a little fire would scare a guy like you - not if half the shit they got in the Smithsonian's true. ...Why don't we give him a shot?" The fireman grins wide, looking over Bucky's shoulder to the fire chief who looks like he's still not entirely sure he's following all this.

The chief -'Frank', apparently- just sighs and shrugs.  
"Alright. Sure. Why the hell not? How'm I supposed to say no to _that_?"  
Bucky feels himself uncoil just a little, and a tiny smile emerges.  
_One more battle over_…  
"Volunteer program meets every Saturday." Frank tells him. "You'll go to those meetings and come here every Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday for training. Training starts next week. Bring a pen and get ready for a hell of a lot of paperwork." There's a hint of a tired smile on the man's face, as he claps a hand on Bucky's shoulder. He doesn't seem bothered by the faint clank of the metal under his hand. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Barnes."


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: This site is being obnoxious and won't let me link to the image of Bucky as a paramedic that I drew, so instead I made it the cover image for this story. Sorry about that folks. I know it's tiny, but it's all I can do here :/  
**_

_**(The image is posted larger on my tumblr and my blog, if you want to check it out there instead. Links are in my profile.)  
**_

* * *

Everything goes to hell at once. Bucky's already moving.

Bucky can see the wall coming down. He knows Steve sees it too, but he's going to hold his ground because there's a civilian on the ground and he can't tell how badly she's hurt and he doesn't want to risk moving her. Captain America never leaves anyone behind.  
…It's a particular sore-spot with him these days...

Bucky also knows he's not going to get there in time to stop it, but he runs anyway.  
He tries.

There's a dull metallic ping as a cornice bounces off of the shield, coupled with a muffled grunt as Steve struggles to keep his feet beneath the sudden weight. With a low rumble and a tremendous crash, the rest of the wall buckles and swiftly collapses over the huddled Captain and the prone woman at his feet.

It takes Bucky a full minute of heaving rubble aside to realize the low keening he's been hearing, echoing in his ears, is his own. He makes himself stop. He can't panic. He knows better.  
He's been trained for this.

"Cap is down, possible civ casualty." He grits into his comm, though his hands are still flying, heaving rubble up and out of his way. The metal arm is certainly coming in handy, heaving rubble over his head that he shouldn't technically even be able to move.

There's a weak groan as he shifts a badly cracked section of concrete to one side, and one limply curled red-gloved hand comes into view. One finger twitches and the hand flexes, then retreats out of view.  
Bucky hurls stone out of his way with renewed vigor. Steve is curled around himself on the ground, nursing what look like damaged ribs. Blood trickles lightly down his forehead, and his eyes are hazy… but they're open. The shield is still loosely braced over his head.  
The woman he rescued lies nearby, still unconscious, but she doesn't look badly injured aside from some scratches and a thick coating of dust. The shield protected her from the worst of it, and Steve took the rest.

"Do you need backup?" Sam's voice comes over the comm, and Bucky can hear him whizzing by somewhere overhead. Something explodes in the distance.

"Not yet. I have to do a more thorough check, but I think I can handle the situation. You guys keep doing what you're doing…. Checking vitals now." Bucky replies.  
He wants nothing more than to make sure Steve's ok, but he knows Steve will just wave him off to check the woman first either way, so that's where he starts. She's breathing, possibly mildly concussed, a few light scratches. No signs of neck or back trauma. Nothing he can't fix once they're clear of here. She'll be easy to deal with.

Steve is a little more complicated.  
He always is.

"Steve, buddy, look at me." He waves his hand in front of Steve's face, watches the dazed blue eyes lazily following his hand. "You know where you are?" Steve blinks, starts to shake his head as if the clear it, then winces and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Ugh… I'd ask what hit me, but I think I know." He groans. His eyes are clearer when he opens them, and the bleeding on his head has stopped. Bucky grins, in spite of himself.

"Quit antagonizin' the architecture genius, an' maybe it won't try to crush your thick skull."  
He runs a hand gently across Steve's ribs, feeling for breaks. His fingers trail over a jutting spot, and Steve jerks. He probes it a little more carefully and is rewarded with a sharp hiss and a muttered swear. _Yep… definitely busted.  
_"Sit tight, kid, I'm gonna set these and then we're gettin' you out of here, ok?"

Steve shakes his head, shifting like he's going to get up, which only sets off more muttered swearing as he gasps and sinks down on his elbows.  
"I'll be fine, just gotta-"

"Steve, I swear to _god_, the next words out of your stupid mouth better not be about how you're gonna get back up and go fight aliens, because if they are-"

"S'my job…" Steve starts to push himself up and winces, curling an arm instinctively around his chest. He's also heavily favoring his right leg. Bucky notices and crowds him back to the pavement.

"Yeah, and it's my job to keep your sorry ass in one piece. Now quit moving and let me work."

"How're they looking?" This time it's Natasha's voice. He doesn't see her anywhere nearby, but that means little where the Black Widow is involved. She could be standing right behind him, and if she didn't want to be spotted, she wouldn't be.

"Civ is out but ok. Possible mild concussion. Safe to move. Steve's kind of busted up. Definitely broken ribs, possible internal injuries. Possible knee injury. He'll be ok in a couple of days, but no more crazy shit today. Once I get these bones set, I'm getting him the hell out of here."

"I'm not-"

"Steve, shut your face and listen to the man. He's a professional." Natasha interrupts. "We're almost done with this mess anyway, we can manage it from here." There's a loud crash on the other end of the line. Natasha makes a small, faintly satisfied noise. He can all but hear the smile on her face.  
One less alien to deal with.

"You heard the lady." Bucky raises an eyebrow at him, daring him to challenge both of them on this. Steve grumbles something unintelligible, but stops trying to get up. Bucky leans into his space and braces his fingers on either side of the damaged bone.  
"Now this is gonna hurt, so… uh … sorry."

Bucky works as quickly and gently as he can, but setting broken bones is never pleasant, and setting ribs without anesthetic is downright torturous. They've already started to heal into a crooked, twisted mess, and more than once he has to re-break the bone to set it properly.

To Steve's credit, he takes the pain the same way he always has - quietly.  
The only complaint he makes is a swallowed grunt of pain and the occasional hissed breath through his teeth. He's stoic to a fault, but he's sheened faintly with sweat when it's all over. His bones are already beginning to knit rapidly again, and he's on his feet a few minutes later, one arm wrapped gingerly around them.  
He leans heavily against Bucky's left shoulder, limping a little on one leg. The still unconscious woman is draped over Bucky's right. Moving slow and a little unsteadily, the three of them ease out of harm's way together.

Natasha wasn't lying, Bucky finds. There can't be much of the enemy left, given that nothing so much as challenges them -let alone attacks- as Bucky carefully guides his charges aboard the team's jet and gets them settled. There are plenty of explosions and a few more structural collapses, but nothing serious enough to warrant a take-off yet.

"Bucky?" Steve's voice is weary, but some of the bitten back pain has gone out of it.  
Bucky turns from strapping in his other patient, waiting for a lecture about how Steve should still be out there; the duty of his uniform or some other such bullshit.

"Yeah?" He answers cautiously, bracing himself.

"...Thanks." Steve's face is still pale and dirty, but his faint wry smile seems genuine. He's slowly learning when to stop fighting back.  
_Only took him 80 years to figure it out… _Bucky thinks.  
"You always were good at hauling me out of trouble, weren't you?"

The body's bigger than it used to be, but the face is still all Steve. It's like looking into the past and having the 20-something runt he grew up with staring back.

"Every time, kid." Bucky smiles, coming back to gently ruffle his friend's hair. "Every time."


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: I'll be gone all weekend, so here's a two-fer :)**_

* * *

"It's too unstable, we can't find a safe entry point." Lieutenant Schaeffer, the officer in charge of the scene, crackles over the walkie-talkies. He's staring up at the building in dismay, trying to think of some way to rescue its occupants. His crew has been scurrying around the 2-story home for the last several minutes, trying to find a stable way in, only to be turned back every time by flames and crumbling supports. There are still two people upstairs somewhere, but the place could come down on their heads at any moment, and if they try to go in now, they'd risk more lives than they stand to save. The lieutenant can't order the fire crew in under these conditions. There's nothing he can do, and it eats at him to stand there while lives hang in the balance. These are the days he hates.

Bucky has been pacing anxiously for some time, waiting for orders to move in. He's already mostly suited up and he's itching to get into action.  
Bucky loathes this useless delay. Loathes just standing here waiting for instructions. There are people slowly asphyxiating in there, and he's out _here_ doing nothing. It's maddening.

He's just barely keeping himself in check when he hears the order to stand down coming down the line. They're going to keep trying to control the fire, but that's all they can do. They're not going in after the victims.

_Fuck that. _Bucky thinks indignantly. He came here to help people, and that's exactly what he intends to do. He pivots on his heel, heading straight for the burning house.

"I'm going in." Bucky announces, in a tone that brooks no argument as he pulls on the last of his gear, pushing past two of the senior firefighters who are between him and his objective. One of them grabs his arm and digs in their heels.

"The _hell_ you _are_, Barnes!" Olsen snaps, trying with little success to drag him back. "This hero-complex bullshit has got no business here. You heard Schaeffer, we have to do this safely, so-"

That's as far as he gets before Bucky wrenches himself out of the man's grip and barrels through what remains of a side door, calling over his shoulder as he disappears from view.  
"Don't worry, I'll be fine! I'm 98 years old, I've already died once, and even if this place falls down on my head, I've had worse.  
Don't come in after me. I'll be right back!" He tosses a mock salute over his shoulder, and then he's gone, swallowed up by flames and smoke.

Kowalski, the other senior fireman, just gapes, speechless. It takes him nearly a full minute to find his voice.  
"Do we… do we tell Schaeffer about this? I mean that's gotta be like a billion counts of insubordination right there… and… it's not like we can just go in there and drag him back out-"

"Shit, I don't know… You want to explain how we let a fucking Howling Commando run into a compromised structure and didn't stop him?"

"... Shit."

"He'd better survive this stunt so I can kill him."

"Get in line."


	7. Chapter 7

The house is dark and completely obscured by smoke and flames. Bucky can't see a foot in front of his face, and the heat is searing, even through the heavy rubberized coat and boots. It's miserable and dangerous… But then… he wasn't lying when he said he's had worse.  
At least here nothing is currently exploding, nobody's tearing off their faces, and no one's electrocuting him. He's not frozen, he's not currently being tortured, and he's not missing any time.

… By comparison, this little venture is a walk in the park.

He starts to hum one of his favorite songs from 'before' under his breath as he creeps through what was probably a living room at some point, easing his way toward what appears to be the hall. This shouldn't actually be too bad, as long as he's careful and-

With a loud creak and a trail of embers flaring in its wake, a chunk of wall suddenly gives way in front of him, engulfed in fire. Tucking and rolling, he barely gets his left arm up to batt it safely away from his skull before it lands on him. The rest of the wall seems to hold, at least for now.  
Maybe he'd be wise to pay closer attention…

He makes his way cautiously toward where there should probably be stairs, and finds a roaring inferno filling most of the lower landing instead. He swears under his breath in at least six different languages.  
There's no good way around it.

"Right…" He sighs, sizing up the fire that's between him and the people he's here to save.

"Of course… Why did I think this would be easy, again? Nothing's ever easy…" He grumbles, scanning for another way up. His eyes trail toward the ceiling. Parts of it have already collapsed and there's an open space ringed in brilliant flames that goes directly into what looks like the remains of bedroom. He could probably clear the flames without too much trouble, but could he stick the landing?  
He weighs his options.

There's a strong chance he'd just come right back down through the damaged floor even if he makes the initial jump successfully, which doesn't do anyone any good. It's probably a bigger risk than necessary, and after the incident with the wall trying to brain him, he's feeling less inclined to take stupid chances.

He's just about to give up on the idea and try another way when there's weak cough from somewhere up there. That spurs him into action and puts further strategizing off the table.  
He's running out of time in here, he reminds himself. There are people up there slowly dying. This has to happen _now._

_Steve does stupid shit all the time, and he's survived ok…_ Bucky reasons, backing up and gauging the distance and the angle he needs, as he coils for the leap…. _And I'm __**never**_ _tellin' him about this or I won't ever hear the end of it.  
_Holding his breath, Bucky shoves himself into motion, gets a running start, and leaps for it.

The floor creaks mutinously, but mercifully holds, when he clatters down on it, tucking into a roll and coming up on his feet.  
Everything around him is red and burning. His entire world is made up of blazing heat. The air is practically crackling, heavy and acrid with smoke.

Three feet to his left a middle-aged man is passed out on the floor, and his semi-conscious wife is staring, wide-eyed and terrified, at Bucky.

"I'm… uh… here to rescue you." He goes for comforting and ends up with awkward instead. The woman nods dazedly, glancing between him and the prone man behind her. She doesn't seem at all convinced, but at this point, she'll take anything over burning to death.  
Bucky kicks himself in the back of his mind. He knows he used to be charming and witty once. He knows he was. He's seen the footage.  
The old Bucky Barnes would've just charmed the socks off of this lady and had her calmed down in two seconds flat. … Unfortunately, he's not the old Bucky Barnes anymore, and damned if he can draw on that particular gift right now.  
He'll just have to go for direct and hope for the best. Nobody gives out points for style when it comes to staying alive.

Carefully, gingerly, he steps closer to them… and his foot goes cleanly through a weak spot in the floor, up to the shin. The wife flinches back, as if afraid he'll drag her down too. She's starting to tremble.  
Swearing, he shimmies himself loose and reaches out a hand to her.

"Ok, look at me. I need you to focus on what I'm telling you and nothing else, ok?" He tries his best to sound calm and soothing. The woman looks petrified, but she nods, eyes locked on his hand. Smoke whorls swirl around them and the heat is nearly unbearable. Sweat drips into his eyes, but he blinks it away heedlessly. "I need you to grab my hand and step over to me. Can you do that?"

Shaking, she doesn't respond, eyes flicking to the inferno that's visible through the hole in the floor. As bad as it is up here, it's now much worse downstairs. She swallows thickly, and he can see she's about to freeze up.

"Hey, hey, no, look at me. Just look at me." A little of his old military seargant voice slips into his tone. He lets it. "It's going to be ok. You're not going to fall. I swear to you, I will not let you fall. You're going to be ok." He holds her eyes through the scuffed plastic of his face shield. "I promise you: I _will_ get you both out of here."

Her eyes are huge and red-rimmed, but they're focused on him now. Hesitantly she nods. Reaches out. Takes the hand. Climbs to her feet. And steps toward him.

He swings her up onto his shoulder when she's safely across, feeling the floor creaking ominously at the combined weight. He's got a few minutes -tops- to get them out, or they'll all go down together.  
Time to go for broke.

"Hold on tight, and whatever you do, don't let go." He instructs his passenger, feeling her arms lacing tight around his neck. Satisfied that she's not going to tumble off, he leans down to scoop up the man on the floor and arranges him over the other shoulder, right arm looped tightly over the man's back holding him firmly in place.

Then he quickly takes stock of his options and makes himself an exit.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Wow, that was a longer hiatus than I meant it to be. I was having second thoughts about where to take the story, and I haven't quite ironed them out yet, but I figured I should at least resolve that cliff-hanger while I do :)**_

* * *

"HE DID _WHAT_?!" The vein in Schaeffer's neck stands out half an inch, and he looks ready to have an aneurysm on the spot.

"We tried to stop him, sir, but he wouldn't listen… And you know how Barnes is. ...It was like trying to hold back a freight train." Olsen continues miserably, shoulders hunched.

"You're telling me… that James- Bucky ...fucking ….Barnes... A living piece of US history… is in an unsaveable house ...that could collapse at any minute... and he went in there _on my watch_?" There's a barely contained hysterical edge in the lieutenant's voice. "Is _that_ what you're telling me?"

"... More or less…" Olsen answers, rubbing at the back of his head uncomfortably.

"Oh god, Captain America's gonna murder me…" The lieutenant groans, dropping his face into his hands.

"He probably wouldn't-"

"You have any idea what he did to the last people that let something happen to that guy?!" Schaeffer interrupts, voice turning slightly shrill. "There's nothing left of them! He-"

A window on the upstairs landing of the house abruptly explodes outward, interrupting him before he can spiral into utter panic.

A very dirty and laden down fire-fighter bursts through it in a spectacular shower of glass and flaming debris, left arm braced in front of his face to take the brunt of the crash-through. He lands awkwardly on his feet, staggers a bit, then trots over to the ambulance crew and gently starts to unload his hangers-on. Once he's got an arm free, he tears the helmet off and stands there sucking in deep lungfulls of precious smoke-free air. The fireman is limping a bit on one side, but he's upright, still breathing, and he saved lives. That's what matters.  
Bucky looks much more pleased with the situation than he really ought to be.

* * *

The woman around his neck is nearly hysterical when they reach the safety perimeter, and for a few moments, she won't let go. She's too upset to think of anything but 'hold on and don't let go'.  
She's really not thinking at all. Just reacting. He can understand the feeling.  
Bucky goes for soothing, rather than just forcing her to drop away.

"Hey, hey it's ok. You're ok now." He murmurs to her reassuringly. "Didn' I tell you I'd get you out?" He cranes his face around a little closer and gently pats her arm. "You did great." Bucky adds when he hears a loud half-muffled sniffle. "You're very brave. Made my job a lot easier. C'mon down, it's ok to let go now."

He can feel her shaking against him, trembling with fear, adrenaline and just general stress-overload. He allows her to cling until eventually, she loosens her grip and lets the EMTs detach her. He stands back while they ease her down to the ground. She goes quietly into the ambulance, leaning heavily against the uniformed woman who's partner is prepping an oxygen mask, and sticking close to her husband's side as they load him onto a stretcher. She still looks terrified, but she's grounded enough to handle it now. She can function.

She's doing a lot better than some who've been in her position, he'll give her that.

"Barnes."  
The tone of the voice tells him he's in trouble. He doesn't even have to turn around to know it's Lt. Schaeffer. … And he doesn't sound happy.  
"I need to speak to you. Now."

…Oh yeah. He's definitely in trouble.


End file.
